Gamble

As if the nettle

By the footpath

Has any choice

About where it grows

Whereas I, yes I

I can sit on this bench

Dedicated to Jennifer Nelson

A true ‘Country Woman’

Or I could head off

Back to my car

Then into town

To the pharmacy

Or I could take the risk

And not take the diabetes tablets

Or did you think

I was going for something stronger

Such as did

The young reckless motorcyclist

Whose end came way too early

Such a waste, pointless loss

Whereas I, yes I

I sat on the bough

A little longer

I took no risk at all; no, not a one

  

Reasons, Lots

If this was the Hebrides

And if I was on my own

With only the machair, the sand

The sea, and the sky for company

Would I be any more settled

Would I hear different birdsong

Would my thoughts be any more free

To think of other possibilities

You see for sure

This quiet part of Lincolnshire

Gifts me a breeze

Also blue skies with sunshine

So what more

Could South Uist offer

Would I commit

To buying a painting from Volbeda

Will that very long journey

By car, and on board a ferry boat

Deliver up a tiredness

Which is not so easy to shake off

Of course the act of going, and going alone

Is itself quite a statement

Why do I seek solitude

What more does my mind need

  

Many Miles of Space

Cricket commentary

On the iPhone

In quite open country

Yet with the TV mast

Clearly in view

Blue skies

With hardly a cloud

A strong wind

Possibly from the East Coast

Ben Stokes

New to the crease

Excites the fielders

Huddled around the bat

The fly, on the screen

Jumps to the cheers

As Joe Root loses his wicket

To Naseem Shah

Classic test cricket

So the commentator tells me

But that’s it for now

As I choose to click

And save the beauty

  

Literally, No

Too far to walk
With such indigestion
Too far from home
With this pressing need

Yet the bush
Is such a perfect place
With stone flags
Beneath my feet

The wind whistles
Over my shoulder
Then just as quickly
It settles to a breeze

A warm Zephyr
With the occasional urge
Of a more forceful wind
To keep me wondering

And of course I have
Come here to wonder
At the roll of the wolds
With the certainty of trees

Much as if travelling
On the Trans-Siberian railway
Up and over, or through the Ural Mountains
Then all along the self-levelling Steppes

  

Introversion

One more day of not knowing

One more long night to look forwards to

If you do not join in

Why would anyone join in with you

If you choose not to put yourself out there

Why should anyone choose to put out to you

One more season of not knowing

One more dull Saturday to look forwards to